


Hearts Beat Black And Blue

by countingpaperstars



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bruises, Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, First Meetings, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25941457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countingpaperstars/pseuds/countingpaperstars
Summary: Akira is six when he gets his first mark.He wonders what happened, why his soulmate was hit and by whom. The sting is long gone when he traces over the mark gently. At least he knows someone is out there. Someone who may want to play with him, or trade secrets behind their palms. Someone to care.
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Sakamoto Ryuji, Kurusu Akira/Sakamoto Ryuji, Persona 5 Protagonist/Sakamoto Ryuji
Comments: 16
Kudos: 227





	Hearts Beat Black And Blue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm late but this is for Pegoryu week! I've had it cooking in my drafts since last December, and I'm glad to have finally finished it!
> 
> Day 1: Soulmates

Akira is six when he gets his first mark.

He always thought it would be one of the more common ones – the sting of skinned knees or scraped palms. Childhood hurts indicative of fun.

It catches him by surprise and he cries out in surprise as his toys tumble to the floor. It hurts more than he’d imagined. He blinks the startled tears from his eyes and hurries to the bathroom, climbing onto his step stool to look into the mirror at his itchy face. A bright red handprint stains the apple of his cheek.

“Mom?”

She doesn’t come, but then she never does. He knows better than to bother her when she’s busy.

He wonders what happened, why his soulmate was hit and by whom. The sting is long gone when he traces over the mark gently. At least he knows someone is out there. Someone who may want to play with him, or trade secrets behind their palms. Someone to care. 

The shadows shift before the mark fades and he stares until it’s gone. He hopes it’s a one off.

It’s not.

They don’t come very often at first, but as the years pass the bruises rack up like hit points. He knows another has appeared when he feels the sting, like static trapped beneath his skin, and he darts to the nearest bathroom to find it – fingers wrapped tight around his wrist, splotchy marks across his ribs, and once, a perfect circle of a burn.

Akira manages to hide most of them until they fade, but they linger long past their shadows. Every night he sends out a prayer to whoever is listening that his soulmate is okay.

He’s ten when he gets a black eye.

It’s an ugly look, dark and mottled against his pale skin. Akira traces over it sadly and wishes with his whole heart his soulmate could feel that too.

The marks stop after that.

Akira doesn’t realize it at first, but before he knows it three months have passed with nothing new. He hopes it’s a good sign and not a bad one. He can’t decide if the silence is worse.

He breathes a small sigh of relief when the buzzing itch returns, a small bruise blooming here along his knees. The sting in his palms is miniscule, scrapes disappearing almost as soon as they appear. It’s nothing big, nothing so catastrophic as a handprint, and he hopes it’s harmless.

He’s fifteen when he collapses in class, hand wrapped tight around his leg. He sucks in a deep breath and clenches his teeth against the pain. It doesn’t stop his yell. It’s never felt like this before, never been so bad.

They send him home, leg aching with every step. The house is empty as he hauls himself to bed, curling up and sending out his first prayer in a long time. He wishes he could send some sort of sign, some reassurance. But all he’s left with is an ugly bruise along his thigh that takes days to fade rather than hours.

It lingers like a bad taste even as Akira is swept into a whirlwind of trouble – falling into a lawsuit, shuttled off to a new city, and finding himself utterly alone.

* * *

Ryuji almost doesn’t believe he has a soulmate at all. The constant patchwork of bruises on his skin beneath his father’s hands makes sure of that. If he does have one they must hate him, he thinks one night. He curls up in bed, arms folded tight over his aching ribs. They must hate him for the ugly marks they share.

Things get worse before they get better and it’s a final black eye that spurs his mother to cut ties with his father. Although his spot hangs empty, the marks he dealt linger long after they fade away.

Ryuji joins the track team, running and running further than his father ever believed. He pushes himself until he can taste the word scholarship on his tongue. It tastes like freedom; like a future.

And then Kamoshida tears it from his hands. He spends weeks laid up with a cast, mourning the loss of his chances. Both his scholarship and soulmate. Who would want to be with someone who causes them this much pain? Who has nowhere to go from here out?

Ryuji is sixteen when he’s proven wrong, nearly blindsided altogether.

It’s raining. He’s not sure why that’s what he remembers most about getting sucked into an alternate hellscape. It’s all he can think about as he falls beneath the guards hands, cold and aching.

Akira is a flame, a sparking ethereal dagger as he comes down on fiends around them. Ryuji follows him without a thought, coattails flying out behind Akira as he runs. He’s smooth as a river, dashing through the halls until they’re home free and tumbling into the alley.

He’s home before he finds it, assessing each new bruise in turn. One sticks out in particular, a splotchy flame shape along his forearm. He doesn’t remember getting burned, not by the fiends Akira fought. Ryuji’s stomach swoops and he traces over it with care. It couldn’t be...

Akira has a bandage on his arm when they meet up next. Ryuji tries not to stare. He watches him in battle, realizing each hit’s synchronized echo of a sting on his skin.

Ryuji wonders if he should say anything.

In the end he keeps it to himself. There’s too much going on and Akira… he doesn’t need another worry on his plate. So Ryuji says nothing and goes about his days - studying for exams, fighting in the metaverse, and spending as much time as he can with Akira.

He doesn’t know if he knows. Doesn’t know if his wounds translate to his skin. Some people end up with mismatched marks, it’s not uncommon to have a soulmate who’s not yours back. And Akira is… he’s phenomenal. He deserves the world, not someone who mars his skin with bruises on the regular.

Before he knows it things fall to shit.

He’s gone. Akira’s gone and Ryuji’s panicking. Sae’s palace couldn’t have gone much worse. The bruises are piling up on his skin. He lies curled up on Akira’s bed, ignoring the others as they scramble for a plan. Ann touches his back, stroking softly as a tear slips free.

He wishes he’d said something. Anything. Akira would’ve let him down gently and then Ryuji could be over it. But he didn’t and he can’t get that time back. Akira is gone.

“We have to do something,” says Ann. She didn’t even have to ask, meeting Ryuji’s tear streaked gaze with steely eyes.

Ryuji cries out as another wound punches through his chest and he curls tighter.

* * *

Akira is seventeen when he meets his soulmate, officially.

He’s had his suspicions, but there’s always been a bigger problem to address. When he finally comes back to them, he knows. He knows in the way Ryuji’s eyes meet his upon his return.

“Oh thank goodness,” says Ann, reaching out to hug Akira. He holds back a wince, but Ryuji is less successful.

“We were so worried about you!” says Futaba.

Akira shrugs and offers a small grin. “I’m fine.”

“You look less than,” says Yusuke. “Perhaps, some rest is in order.

The others all join in agreement, each offering their relief to Akira before filtering out of Leblanc for the evening. They promise to return soon, to exchange the full details of what had happened. Already, Akira knows he won’t be telling them everything. They don’t need to know, don’t need to understand what he went through in custody. They have enough to worry about, without adding him to the list.

Makoto sets a hand on his shoulder with a knowing look, apology in her eyes, before she, too, retreats out the door. It’s only Ryuji left, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

Akira knows. He knows in the way Ryuji shifts from foot to foot; knows in the electricity that zaps through the air, the way he’s always felt like some strange combination of coming home and striking out on the road. Akira holds his tongue, afraid of the dominoes one word may set off; afraid of the change. He doesn’t want to risk ruining what they have.

“How are you, really?” Ryuji asks.

Akira shakes his head and nods toward the stairs. They climb up to the attic, Morgana having made scarce for the night with Futaba. He sits on the edge of his bed and rubs at his sore wrists. Ryuji’s eyes track the movement.

“I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.” 

With a swallow, Akira avoids Ryuji’s stubborn gaze. It’s hard, being called on his attempt to sugarcoat things. He’s so used to getting away with hiding how he truly feels, with hiding behind a stonewall of expression.

“Don’t even try to deny it,” Ryuji says. “I… felt everything.”

Akira’s gaze snaps up, and this time it’s Ryuji’s turn to look away. He rubs at his wrists, mimicking the way Akira had. “I know exactly what you went through.” He sucks in a breath, and meets Akira’s eyes head on. “You don’t need to do this alone.”

Words stick in Akira’s throat like vines. He swallows, so very unsure of things, but holds out a hand regardless. Ryuji doesn’t move at first, eyes wide, but then he hesitantly accepts the invitation. He sits on the bed next to Akira and wraps a gentle arm around him. He avoids the bigger bruises along his ribs, already knowing exactly where they are.

“I’m sorry,” Akira mumbles. 

“None of that,” says Ryuji, tucking Akira into his side. He sets his chin on Akira’s head and holds him close. Their knees bump in their attempt to squeeze closer. “I’m sorry, too.”

Akira blinks. “For what?”

“I know… it couldn’t have been easy. Having me for a...” He doesn’t say the word. It feels too tentative to breathe aloud between them, and Akira grips the back of Ryuji’s shirt.

“None of that,” he echoes, and Ryuji huffs a laugh. “I’m… glad it’s you.”

Ryuji squeezes Akira tighter, mindful of his aches, and reaches down to grab his free hand. He brings it to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the back of it. “I’m glad it’s you, too.”

“How long did you know?”

Another kiss to the back of his hand. Ryuji hesitates. “Since Kamoshida’s palace. I was scared to say anything. I wasn’t sure you’d want me. I thought, for so long, that I didn’t even have anyone.”

It’s Akira’s turn to squeeze Ryuji’s hand. He’s known for so long that he’s had a soulmate, he can’t imagine always wondering. It must have been hard. What a pair they make, he thinks. Flashes of all their combined aches and pains over the years – all the injuries from Ryuji’s father, Kamoshida, Mementos. He wants to vow Ryuji will never hurt again. But he knows he can’t make that promise, no matter how much he wants to.

Life is pain, Akira’s learned that much. But it’s also so much more than that. It’s the way Ryuji looks into Akira’s eyes and the way he leans against him, body warm. It’s the way he knows they have each others’ backs, no matter what. All the pain they’ve been through, all the abuse and neglect, and still they found each other. Still they have a connection to revel in and take solace with.

Akira leans forward, tentative, and waits. Ryuji’s eyes dart down and up, before he meets him the rest of the way.

It’s gentle, as if the air between them may shatter at the slightest pressure. Ryuji’s lips are chapped, but Akira doesn’t care, pressing further against him as they kiss. They separate, long enough to smile at each other, before leaning back in. Their grins make it hard to kiss, but they make it that much sweeter, like each brush of their lips is a sugary promise. 

No matter what life throws at them, no matter how tough it gets, they have each other.

“Akira,” Ryuji breathes, reverently.

The sound settles in the cage of Akira’s bruised ribs, warm and steady. He fans the flames, keeps them tucked up inside him, and pulls Ryuji close for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you thought <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/countpaperstars) | [writing blog](http://countingpaperstars.tumblr.com) | [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com)


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